Mistakes
by arllama
Summary: His mind wouldn’t let him stop, even though the battle was over. Post Sateda. Rononcentric, with Beckett and Team.
1. Lost

A/N: This is a post-Sateda fic, set just after the episode events. Ronon-centric with Beckett and Team friendship.

* * *

.

* * *

Heavy. 

Everything felt heavy.

He couldn't lift his head, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't even remember lying down.

He was tempted to surrender to the tiredness in his mind and sleep, but a faint sense of unease told him he couldn't. Ronon tried again to force his eyes to open. It could have been a second later or an hour, but they finally responded and drifted awake.

A light, blindingly bright, was above him.

The sun.

It all came back to him in one sudden, terrible moment. The sun. His breath caught in his throat as he realized he was out in the open. If he could see the sun, the Wraith would be able to see him. He cursed himself for being so careless. His instincts took over immediately as he lifted his head as much as he could, ignoring the dull pain. He could evaluate his stupidity later.

As he began to sit up, he encountered resistance. Wires, tubes stuck into his arms. Odd. He pulled them off easily as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bed? He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in a bed.

He scanned the area quickly, but his blurred vision couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. He was inside, not outside. In a room, but that couldn't be. He never would have stopped within a settlement.

Something wasn't right. But, he couldn't focus long enough to figure out what it was.

Despite his confusion, he was sure of one thing. He needed to keep moving. Wherever he was, he needed to be someplace else. He needed to find the Gate.

He set his bare feet on the floor and tried to stand. Not only was his mind unsteady, but his legs seemed to be as well. He realized he was standing when he began to fall. Holding onto the edge of the bed, he waited for the room to stop spinning. He stumbled forward, bracing himself against anything that could hold him up.

Slowly, he negotiated his way his way to the far side of the room, where he thought he saw a door. With any luck, it would lead to the outside. He was vaguely aware of voices nearby, but he didn't pay them any more attention than was required to avoid them. He couldn't risk anyone else's life. There could still be time to save the people that had harbored him.

* * *

"You can tell Dr. McKay he can leave at any time," Beckett said as he signed off on the appropriate chart and handed it back to the assisting nurse. 

He thought he heard a sigh of relief escape her lips. He couldn't help but smile to himself. The return trip on the Daedalus was far from eventful. And, with no life-threatening catastrophe looming over his head, McKay had found a certain amount of enjoyment in assessing the efficiency of the medical staff, which in his estimation was woefully lacking in sixteen different areas. Things would no doubt become significantly calmer with Rodney officially out of the their hair.

The nurse handed him the last chart of the shift and returned to her duties. Beckett continued on down the corridor as he scanned the top page.

_Dex, Ronon._

Considering the situation, he would have expected Ronon to be in far worse shape. Most didn't survive contact with Wraith, let alone repeated interactions. But, Ronon wasn't like most people.

He knew the fact Ronon was still alive was more a testament to his will to survive rather than any medical skill Beckett brought to the equation. The surgery to repair the damage the tracking device did and the shrapnel wound in his leg was relatively minor. Shock, exhaustion, dehydration. Those were all manageable. It would take time, but Beckett was confident there would be no lasting physical effects.

He couldn't speak for any residual emotional effects, however. It wasn't his area of expertise.

Even though he knew Ronon as well as he could, he couldn't pretend to imagine what might be going through his mind after an ordeal like that. He'd made it a point to know the people he treated, but Ronon had been a challenge bordering on the impossible. The man rarely spoke. When he did, it was often one-word replies. He offered little information about himself. And, what few details Beckett had managed to learn came from second-hand sources and asking the right question every now and then.

The first few months Ronon had been with them were uneasy for him, that much Beckett could tell. Initially, Ronon had trusted them not to kill him in his sleep or turn him over to the Wraith, but little beyond that. It was the same cautiousness that allowed Beckett to operate on him the first time, but not without a gun pointed at Teyla.

It took time before he was satisfied they were worthy of trust. It took weeks before he began to smile faintly at Beckett's attempts at humor or exchanged looks with Teyla and Sheppard over Rodney's latest litany of complaints. Months before he understood that Beckett would have helped him remove the transmitter regardless of the circumstances. He had adapted to the situation as he had done countless times before. He'd let himself trust the people of Atlantis and that had helped him to survive once again.

Arriving at his destination, Beckett checked his watch as he turned the corner into the room. He'd just be able to catch the end of dinner at the mess if he was lucky. Considering he hadn't had a proper meal since the day before, it would be a nice to change to have something hot that wasn't served in a coffee cup.

He stopped short as he lifted his eyes. Ronon's bed was empty and he was nowhere in sight.

"Ronon?" Beckett called out as he set the chart aside.

His absence wasn't entirely surprising. He had a habit of leaving the infirmary whenever he felt he was sufficiently recovered. Of course, his idea of 'recovered' usually involved being able to walk and little more, case in point.

Beckett could only hope one of the medical staff had seen which way he went. He scanned the room once more and was about to start the search, when he caught sight of a familiar shade of surgical blue in the far corner of the room. He took a step sideways to get a better look. Sure enough, he could just make out a figure dressed in scrubs, partially obscured by a supply cart. That was a relief. He wasn't exactly looking forward to tracking down a man that the Wraith had trouble keeping tabs on.

Beckett rounded the side of the bed and made his way over. Ronon was sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. It looked as though he had been trying for the door, but hadn't made it quite that far. Still, Beckett had to admire the attempt. If it were anyone else, he might have been more concerned, but Ronon could look after himself better than most.

"What are you doing over here?" Beckett asked good-naturedly as he crouched down in front of Ronon. "Surely the floor can't be all that comfortable."

No response. Maybe he hadn't heard him.

Beckett looked him over once to make sure he was all right. It didn't seem as though he'd disturbed any of the stitches in his leg, which was a small miracle in his estimation.

His eyes were only half-open and he didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. It could have been a lingering effect of the sedatives he had been given, exhaustion, shock, or a combination thereof. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. Fever, perhaps, or simply overexertion.

"Ronon?" Beckett tried again.

Ronon didn't lift his head. "Go away," he managed between uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," Beckett said. He appreciated the man's sense of independence, but this was ridiculous. "Wherever you were planning on going, it'll have to wait. You need to rest. You shouldn't even be walking."

Ronon didn't respond, which was as good as agreement in Beckett's book. It was rare to get more than a word out of him anyway, so he figured two words already filled the quota for the day.

He put a hand under Ronon's arm to help guide him to his feet. "Come on, then. Let's get you back-"

"Get away," Ronon practically growled, pushing Beckett's arm away with a considerable amount of force.

Beckett staggered back slightly and swallowed hard. He hadn't expected that.

"Alright, no harm done," Beckett said with forced composure, lifting his hands up in a placating gesture as he moved backward slowly. He had no idea what caused Ronon to lash out like that, but he certainly didn't want to test him again. "Easy, now. I won't come any closer," he assured him.

Ronon sank back against the wall, his eyes drifting closed for only a moment before he forced them open again. He looked beyond exhausted. Unsteady, though every muscle was tensed as if he was expecting disaster at any moment. Beckett watched him closely, reevaluating the situation as best he could from a distance. He'd thought that Ronon was simply disoriented, but there was clearly something more to it.

"Ronon," Beckett ventured carefully, "do you know where you are?"

Ronon met his eyes for only a moment before his erratic gaze moved on.

It wasn't the answer he was looking for, but it told him enough. Beckett glanced to the door, hoping he could catch someone's attention. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to handle this on his own.

"I'm a danger to you," Ronon said finally.

"No, son. I can assure you, you're not," Beckett said. There was no familiarity in Ronon's expression, no indication he knew who he was talking to. There was more than a trace of desperation. Fear, if he could guess what fear looked like on Ronon's face. He'd never seen it before.

* * *

There were no windows. He couldn't see outside. He had no idea if he was below or above ground or how far he would have to go to reach the Gate. The realization made him all the more desperate. 

Everything was a haze. His eyes were moving, but he couldn't focus on what he was seeing. It seemed familiar, but it couldn't have been. Stopping in the same place twice was a risk. A mistake. Ronon had been running too long to make stupid mistakes.

There was a nuisance of a man near him. Talking. He had warned him to go, that he was in danger. Or had he? He couldn't remember.

"I'm a danger to you," Ronon repeated to the man. Usually, that was enough to get people moving in the opposite direction. They assumed he carried a plague and had nothing more to do with him.

This man didn't move.

Ronon reached to where his gun should have been. If the threat of plague didn't convince someone to leave him alone, a gun in the face usually did the trick.

It wasn't there.

Did he lose it? He brought a hand to his eyes and tried to rub the cloudiness from them. He couldn't remember.

The man was still holding his hands up in a calming gesture, still talking. Still blocking his way. Nuisance. This man had a death wish.

Maybe he was on a planet full of idiots.

"Wraith," Ronon said out of pure frustration, knowing no matter how stupid the man was, he would understand that. "I bring the Wraith."

* * *

Beckett was taken aback by the sudden fierceness in his voice. 

Ronon was trying to warn him.

The fear, the desperation, it was starting to make sense. Ronon believed he was still running, that the Wraith were still chasing him. He thought he was still in danger and a danger to others around him. His mind wouldn't let him stop, even though the battle was over.

"Alright," Beckett said evenly, hoping some of the calm in his voice would have an effect. "I understand-"

"The Gate," Ronon said. "Where is it?"

"I can't tell you that," Beckett answered after a moment's hesitation. If Ronon ever found his way to the gate and got through, they'd have one hell of a time trying to find him again. And, as much as he was concerned for Ronon's welfare, he knew others would be at risk. If it was true Ronon was suffering from some sort of delusion, it was impossible to determine how far it extended, or if he would attack someone he mistook as an enemy. He was volatile enough when he had all his wits about him.

He knew he had to act quickly. Beckett lifted a hand to touch his comm. link. He didn't know if it was the sudden movement or some danger Ronon's mind had fabricated, but something caused Ronon to retreat further into the corner. When he met the wall, he seemed to realize there was nowhere else to go and pushed himself to his feet.

"Ronon, no-" Beckett started, but he was ignored.

Ronon used the wall to pull himself up, to steady himself long enough for the swaying to stop. Beckett moved away, keeping a safe distance between them. Even so, Ronon remained wary of him and kept his back to the wall as he felt his way to the door.

Beckett turned away slightly as he quickly activated the comm. link.

"This is Beckett in the infirmary. Requesting security," he said quietly. "We may have a situation with Ronon." He kept his voice as light as possible, hoping Ronon didn't pick that moment to become lucid. If he already perceived Beckett as a threat, there was no telling how he would react to the idea that armed marines would shortly be on the way.

"_What's the problem, doctor?"_ Weir's voice came back.

Beckett glanced back to Ronon, only to find him already gone. Bad to worse in an instant.

"Security team," Beckett repeated. "Now!"

* * *

.

* * *

This is my first stab at Atlantis fic, I hope I'm getting it right. If you've got a minute, let me know what you thought. I'm open to all feedback and always looking to improve. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Lies

There weren't many people left in the infirmary at that hour, which was a godsend. The immediate area was empty except for the two of them and Beckett could only hope it would stay that way. He followed Ronon at a careful distance, keeping a watchful eye on him as he limped down the hallway.

He had no clear destination as far as Beckett could tell. His only motivation seemed to be getting away from where he was as fast as he could. Each step was pained, but he didn't stop. He didn't even break stride. He kept moving, drawing in jagged breaths despite the pain. It was obviously something he was used to doing.

Ronon took no notice of him, or at least he didn't let on. Every so often, he stopped and tried to get his bearings, only to realize he was just as lost as he had been before. He would start moving again with a renewed sense of desperation.

It was heartrending to watch, even more so because Beckett knew he couldn't do anything to help. He couldn't even risk getting close enough to offer a word of reassurance. In the distance, he heard footsteps barreling down the hall. He glanced back to see John and Teyla turning the corner and was grateful for it. If anyone would know how to deal with Ronon, it was them.

Ronon had heard them as well. He slowed, bracing himself against the wall as he turned toward them.

Beckett held out his hand, signaling for them to slow down as they approached. They weren't armed, which was a relief. He didn't even want to think about Ronon getting his hands on a gun.

"What did he do?" Sheppard asked at once, a clear note of apology in his voice. He looked past Beckett as if he was half-expecting to see a scientist with a black eye stumbling around.

Teyla noticed something wasn't right. "Is he all right?" she asked, voicing her concern aloud.

"No," Beckett confirmed, "I'm afraid not."

"They'll kill you," Ronon said suddenly. He looked away from them as he spoke, not bothering to see if they took his warning or not.

"Sure they will," Sheppard said slowly, his confusion apparent. He exchanged a questioning look with a Teyla. "You want to fill us in here, Doc?"

"It's complicated," Beckett said.

"I'm getting that," Sheppard said. "Try the really simple version."

"He's experiencing some sort of delusion involving the Wraith," Beckett said, attempting to explain the situation as best as he could.

"He believes he is running," Teyla concluded.

"Aye, as far as I can tell."

"That's not good," Sheppard said, the implications becoming clear.

"No," Beckett agreed. "He doesn't understand where he is and I haven't been able to reason with him."

Sheppard took in the scene quickly before his eyes returned to Ronon. "Options?"

"He'll have to be sedated. I don't see a way around it," Beckett said. It was clear that Ronon wasn't becoming any more coherent. And, at the rate he was going, it would be only a matter of time before he hurt himself or someone else.

"Okay," Sheppard said, accepting the situation and solution with a brief nod. "Get what you need."

"It won't be that easy. I don't think he'll let anyone near enough," Beckett said.

"I'll worry about that. Just go," Sheppard told him.

"Alright." Beckett nodded. "But try and keep him here. The less he moves around the better."

"We will," Teyla said.

Sheppard moved forward as Beckett quickly headed back. He had no idea how Beckett expected them to keep Ronon anywhere. He wasn't exactly easy to manage on a good day, let alone when he was hallucinating about Wraith. But they had to try.

Ronon's eyes moved quickly, never stopping in one place for more than a second. He didn't look at them, but Sheppard knew he was aware of where they were. Ronon was listening to every move they made.

Sheppard could tell by the way he was angling his head. It was subtle, but it was a behavior he had come to recognize from Ronon as a sign danger was near. Sometimes, it would be the only warning he'd get before Ronon opened fire or someone opened fire on them.

The decision to fight or retreat was playing out visibly on his face. It was an odd combination, but one Sheppard was familiar with. Hunting and being hunted. He hadn't seen it from Ronon since they'd found him on P3M-736. The years of living in an unpredictable isolation had made him paranoid. His survival had depended on his ability to react violently and accurately.

'Dangerous' was the best word to describe him. In fact, Sheppard had used it several times on his initial report. Ronon had managed to get the drop on him and Teyla twice without much effort, all while simultaneously avoiding the Wraith. Suffice to say, he wasn't in a hurry to become Ronon's enemy again. The first time was enough for him.

He hadn't been sure if Ronon would be able to adapt to life on Atlantis. It was such a drastic change- the structure, the people, and the activity. But Ronon was used to change, or so Sheppard assumed, because he took this one in stride. The people took him a bit longer to get used to. Their way of doing things was clearly not his way of doing things.

For the longest time, Sheppard had the feeling Ronon tolerated them because Atlantis was relatively safe and represented a reliable source of food. It could have been true. Sheppard had asked him once, he'd only answered with a raised eyebrow and a faint smile.

Sometimes Ronon talked. Sometimes he didn't.

He had come to know Ronon by watching him. Slight changes in his expression, the way he shifted his stance, how close his hand hovered near his weapon- it all meant something and often told Sheppard more than any conversation would.

Though, that didn't stop him from trying to get Ronon to talk every now and then.

He'd asked him once, back before he realized the topic wasn't open for casual discussion, if it had been hard running for as long as he had. Ronon had dismissed it with a shrug and a blank 'no.' Sheppard had accepted the answer. If Ronon was okay with it, then so was he.

He'd believed it, too. Right up until he'd seen Ronon's face when the villagers revealed they intended to turn him over to the Wraith. For one brief moment, Ronon's expression betrayed panic.

Sheppard saw a hint of that same panic now.

Beyond that, Sheppard couldn't read him. At times, he seemed aware of his surroundings; at others, there was nothing but confusion and pain on his face. And, if it was true that Ronon believed the Wraith were after him, they were in _very_ deep trouble. Beckett had every reason to be concerned.

Ronon shook his head slightly, trying to keep focus.

Sheppard moved as close as he dared. Ronon didn't seem to be threatened by his proximity, but he didn't let his guard down for a second.

"Hey there, buddy," he said lightly, "Dr. Beckett needs you back in the infirmary. I just happen to be going that way myself, so I'll go with you. Okay?" He knew it was a lame attempt at being casual and would have probably received nothing more than a cynical look from Ronon on any other day. Today, however, he didn't get any kind of response. It was as if he hadn't spoken.

"Ronon?" He slowly reached out his hand to touch Ronon's shoulder and get his attention.

"I would not," Teyla cautioned him.

She was right. He hadn't been thinking. Sheppard pulled his hand back.

This wasn't going to be easy.

"They'll kill you," Ronon said to no one in particular. His eyes were hollow, still searching aimlessly for something only he could see.

"There are no Wraith, we're all safe here," Sheppard assured him. "No Wraith, Ronon. Do you understand that?"

"They kill everyone."

Sheppard took that as a 'no.'

"They didn't kill you," he said. He didn't expect an answer and was more than a little surprised when Ronon actually looked at him.

A faint sense of pride crossed Ronon's face as his gritted teeth twisted into an unsettling smile. "Not yet."

* * *

Not yet. Not ever. He'd sooner put a blaster to his own head than give the Wraith the benefit of killing him. Though, he wasn't about to let it come to that. He hadn't survived for so long only to die because these people wouldn't get out of his way.

Ronon grimaced as another sharp pain ripped through the back of his neck.

Every time he moved, he became aware of a new source of pain. His leg, his head, his back, his neck. The one in his neck wasn't anything new. It was a constant since the day they put the tracker in. He figured they made it that way intentionally, though he never kept a Wraith alive long enough to ask.

But this wasn't the same dull ache he was used to. He put a hand to his back and felt bandages where the scars should have been.

Maybe he'd tried to cut it out again. No. He'd learned his lesson the first time. There was so much blood. He couldn't see what he was doing. Wouldn't have known what to do anyway. The infection almost killed him. For a while, he wished it had.

He was so tired, so desperate to make it end. Stupid enough to believe he could.

He closed his eyes. So tired.

"_Ronon,"_ he heard from somewhere in the haze of his mind.

The word caught his attention and he looked sharply in the direction in came from. He hadn't heard his name spoken aloud in years. He'd almost forgot what it sounded like. Maybe it was just a trick of the ear. He couldn't think straight anyway.

"_Ronon?"_ a woman's voice said. It was familiar, calming. Melena? No, she was dead.

He was losing his mind.

They were all dead. There was no one left alive who knew his name. His eyes moved

between the faces of the people in front of him. Blurred shapes, impossible to recognize.

Liars. They didn't know him.

"Who are you?" he demanded. His voice was hoarse; he hardly recognized it as his own.

He closed his eyes and listened for the answer, trying to concentrate enough to make

sense of it.

"_Friends"_ was the only word he could distinguish. That was absurd. He didn't have

friends. Dead, all of them.

Anyone he met was a passing stranger, nothing more. It was safer that way. Befriending

someone was a mistake. Pointless.

These people were insane to think he'd have anything to do with them.

* * *

"Yeah—I don't think he believes me," Sheppard said.

"I do not think he understands you," Teyla said, glancing after Beckett as if that would make him return faster. "Tell him again."

Sheppard took in a breath and nodded. Right, he could stall.

"We're your friends, Ronon. Here on good old Atlantis. You know, the big city the Wraith can't find," he said slowly. It wasn't connecting anymore than it did the first time, but he kept trying. "We're here to help. No one's going to hurt you."

As he spoke, Ronon glanced at him sideways. He had succeeded in getting attention, though he couldn't say he preferred it. Ronon was looking at him with intense suspicion, seeming to misinterpret each attempt at reassurance as a threat.

"Colonel," Beckett said just loud enough for him to hear and quiet enough that Ronon wouldn't. He held a syringe carefully in one hand.

Moving back, Sheppard held out his hand. "Give it to me," he said. He could feel the tension building in Ronon and didn't want Beckett getting anywhere near him.

"Do you know how to-"

"I'll figure it out," Sheppard said, gesturing for him to hurry. "Teyla," he said, not knowing exactly what he needed her to do, but wanting her to be ready for it just the same. She understood.

Before Beckett had moved very far, Ronon started to waver on his feet. He looked as though he would pass out at any moment, which was probably for the best, all things considered.

"John, watch it," Beckett said as Ronon's eyes slipped closed.

Sheppard instantly reached out to steady him. It was a mistake he regretted as soon as his hand touched Ronon's arm.

His eyes flew open, wildly darting between Sheppard, Teyla, and Beckett. It was as if he was seeing them for the first time and was only then becoming aware of how close they were to him.

"It's okay-" Sheppard began, hoping to calm him down again. No such luck.

Ronon looked at him so quickly, so angrily, that he almost flinched. He had no time to react as Ronon's hand shot out and grabbed him by the front of his jacket. The next thing he knew, he was with inches of Ronon's face and Ronon was staring him down dangerously. For one tense moment, he was sure Ronon would snap his neck like a twig.

"Stay _away_," Ronon growled harshly, releasing him with a shove. Sheppard stumbled backward but managed to keep his footing.

Ronon backed up slowly, watching them cautiously. When he seemed convinced they weren't going to follow, he turned and started to move as fast as he could manage down the corridor.

"Damn it," Sheppard muttered under his breath. He had to consciously stop himself from following after Ronon. They needed a plan. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. If he didn't want to be followed, he'd give them a reason to leave him alone. "Where was he going?' he asked Beckett quickly.

"He mentioned the Gate," Beckett said, "but, in the condition he's in, I don't think he'll get that far."

"I would not be so sure," Teyla said uneasily before she looked to John. "We should alert them."

Sheppard agreed. Underestimating Ronon was a mistake. He'd learned that the first day they'd met.

"Stay here. Wait for me to contact you," Sheppard said to Beckett. "Teyla, I want you to stay with Carson-" She looked on the verge of disagreeing, but Sheppard held up his hand for her to let him finish. "If Ronon comes back this way, do what you need to."

Teyla nodded, understanding his meaning. She would try not to hurt him, but she couldn't let him hurt anybody else.

"Be careful," she said. The tone of her warning wasn't comforting. She knew as well as him how serious this was.

He was already moving in the direction Ronon went as he tapped his earpiece and began to rattle off a string of orders. "Seal off this section as best as you can. Ronon is unaccounted for and believed to be headed to the Gateroom. He is not to be engaged. Report location only."

"_Acknowledged_," Weir responded. _"Exactly what is going on down there, Colonel?"_

"He's running."

* * *

"Isn't there anything to eat around here that doesn't have cardboard as the main ingredient?" McKay lamented aloud. He stuck his fork in the substance masquerading as chicken and pushed the tray away.

He'd asked the kitchen staff the very same question only to be rewarded with scowls. His meals had become suspiciously blander after that. He blamed Carson, of course. It was his infirmary after all, and one would think he would be reasonably concerned that his patients didn't starve to death due to inedible food.

He was counting down the seconds until he was released. At least then he'd be able to eat something besides the chicken _a la blah_ they'd been foisting on him every day.

The sound of someone stumbling into the room drew his attention briefly. It was Ronon.

"Oh, it's you," McKay said, slightly surprised to see him up and about, mildly disappointed he wasn't carrying a pizza.

He looked back down at his pitiful excuse for dinner, only partially paying attention as Ronon limped past him to the back of the room. The area wasn't that big to begin with, so it wasn't exactly easy to overlook the fact he was there. He didn't look too good and his eyes were a bit hazy, which might've explained the fact he couldn't walk in a straight line.

"Maybe you should sit down," McKay suggested. Ronon ignored him. "--Or not. No need to listen to the person indirectly responsible for saving your life or anything."

McKay settled his attention on the cup of coffee. No one with half a brain could mess up coffee. As he picked up the cup, he heard Ronon rifling through the boxes of supplies on the back shelf. McKay had no idea what he was looking for or what could be possibly of interest to him in the medical supplies. It wasn't like they kept bazookas next to the band-aids.

"Bit of advice. Beckett doesn't like people taking his things," he said over his shoulder. Not that he had personal experience or anything. He _had _intended to put in an official requisition, but simply forgot. 'Bandit' was a bit of an over-reaction, though it did prove Carson wasn't above childish name-calling.

Ronon continued to go through the boxes, pulling off the covers and searching the contents.

"Fine. But, don't say I didn't warn you," McKay said, fully absolving himself from any responsibility.

He took a sip from the cup, not at all prepared for terrible taste that followed. "Ugh," he sputtered, trying to keep from spitting the stale, watery liquid out on the floor. "They're trying to kill me, I know it! Starving me was too slow, now they want to poison me!" He turned his head toward Ronon. "Has your food been any good? Though I suppose you don't really have standards. As long as it's not moving or rancid, I'm sure you dig right in."

Ronon didn't acknowledge him, but that wasn't so unusual. His sense of humor was painfully lacking.

McKay watched with a raised eyebrow as Ronon abandoned searching the shelves and found an instrument table. Ronon quickly scanned the neat line of items and moved to take the largest scalpel.

"Don't you have enough of those?" he asked. He estimated that Ronon had roughly five billion knives. Somewhere on Atlantis, he was sure that there was a stockpile of every lost knife and unattended blade ever to grace the city.

McKay waited for some kind of response. He usually got at least a grunt or a glare, and if Ronon was having a particularly emotive day, both at once. McKay couldn't help but notice it took Ronon two tries to get his hand around the scalpel well enough to pick it up. Even then, he didn't seem to be able to hold it properly.

"Are you sure you're okay?" McKay said doubtfully. "Because you really don't look it."

Ronon looked up suddenly toward the door, hearing approaching footsteps in the hallway.

"What?" McKay asked. Though, he didn't know why he bothered to ask Ronon anything. Ronon didn't explain, he stated the obvious.

On one particularly delightful mission off-world, Ronon had abruptly told him to get down to the ground. He'd asked why, as any reasonable person would. A moment later, a firefight had erupted between two neighboring factions. The next thing he knew, Ronon was hauling him to the dirt. It was only _after_ the battle was over that Ronon finally decided to answer him. "So you don't get shot," was all he had said as he pulled McKay to his feet.

Later, on that same mission, when they were headed back to the Gate, Ronon again told him to find cover. He was tired, frazzled and not in the mood to spend the next hour of his life facedown in the mud while the natives fought it out over who had the most benevolent gods. So, he wearily asked why he needed to find cover _this_ time. He got his answer as he heard a crack of thunder and it began to pour. In a matter of seconds, he was soaked through. He narrowed his eyes, pushed the drenched hair from his face and looked to where Ronon was standing, conspicuously dry, under a large tree. "It's raining," Ronon had said with a faint smile as he pointed to the sky.

After twenty or so similarly maddening instances, McKay had given up and simply did what Ronon told him. It was probably the whole point, but he didn't want to give Ronon that much credit.

However, this time they were on Atlantis, so apocalyptic rain or hostile natives weren't really a possibility. So, McKay waited for the succinct, barely-there assessment of the situation as only Ronon could deliver.

"…Wraith," Ronon said.

"Yes, congratulations and welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy where the Wraith are plentiful-"

Ronon held the scalpel out to him. "Take it," he said.

McKay hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should be suspicious or confused, so he settled on both. It wasn't fast enough for Ronon. Before he could argue, Ronon grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the door.

"Take it," Ronon said again, pressing the handle into his hand and trying to curl McKay's fingers around it so he'd be holding it.

McKay looked down and noticed Ronon's hands were shaking slightly. He was about to take it, just because Ronon so clearly wanted him to, when he realized exactly what was going on. He should've seen it sooner.

"Oh, no. No, you don't," McKay said smugly as he gave the scalpel back. "I'm not part of your little crime spree. You took it; you deal with Carson's wrath. Nice try, but you're going to have to find another Bonnie for your Clyde."

"Rodney!" he heard someone hiss his name.

"Hmm?" McKay looked up briefly and saw Sheppard hovering just outside the door. "Ah, you're just in time to witness the fact I had absolutely nothing to do with thi-"

"Get over here," Sheppard told him, watching Ronon closely.

McKay couldn't help but notice that Sheppard wasn't setting foot into the room, instead using the doorway as cover. That didn't exactly put him at ease. "Why, what's going on?"

"I've got him," Sheppard said quietly into his earpiece. "Two meters north of my position. Get here as fast as you can." His eyes darted quickly to the glint of metal in Ronon's hand. A second later, he realized what it was. "Now, McKay!"

McKay looked between him and Ronon, still not having the faintest idea what was going on. "Did I miss something?"

* * *

He could hear them now. The Wraith.

He could hear their footsteps closing in and their ships cutting across the sky overhead.

It wouldn't be long before he would smell them. Putrid, like death. The Wraith were walking death.

The knife in his hand gave him a measure of comfort. He would have preferred a gun, but it would have to do. Fighting wasn't an option, he could hardly stand. He had to run. He had to find the Gate, get off the world and hide. If he was lucky, it would take the Wraith days to find him again. By then, he'd be ready. Kill every last one they sent after him.

The hard part would be finding the Gate. Each person he had the misfortune of coming across was as dim as the last. They had no sense of self-preservation and seemed utterly preoccupied in trying to convince him they meant no harm.

Even now, they were still talking. He'd given up on actually listening to them prattle on. It reminded him why he avoided people, especially in numbers. He had no patience for them.

At times, he felt an odd feeling of familiarity, as though he should know them. He even had a faint sense that he should protect them. But that passed as quickly as it came. He wasn't going to risk his life for someone else. Not anymore.

He used to be an honorable person.

He used to be a lot of things.

Before they released him, the Wraith told him that humans did wonderfully terrible things to each other when trying to survive. It only took him a few months before he realized the truth of it.

He'd done things he never thought himself capable of. So many, he couldn't remember them all. He had killed, that was something he wouldn't forget. Some people who deserved it, some people who'd done nothing more than get in his way. It was him or them and he made the choice. Simple. He wasn't proud of it, didn't like to think about it. But he did it.

He used to rest easy at night.

Ronon caught himself before he slipped too deeply into the past. Couldn't dwell on it, not now. Getting off this world at any cost was the priority. He had to make these people listen to him.

His fingers tightened around the knife. He'd killed innocents before. He told himself he could do it again.

* * *

Without warning, Ronon leveled the scalpel at McKay, bringing the blade within inches of his throat.

McKay choked out a cry of surprise and froze in sheer panic. His eyes darted between Ronon, the knife and then Sheppard with a combination of bewilderment and horror. "I didn't do anything! W-what did I do?"

"Don't move," Sheppard said, willing Rodney to stay calm. He couldn't believe this was happening. With one movement of Ronon's hand, McKay would be dead or dying.

He had seen firsthand how far Ronon was willing to go out of desperation.

"Take it easy," Sheppard began, trying to regain control of the situation. He took a step closer, but Ronon must have seen him from the corner of his eye.

"Don't," Ronon warned him, pressing the blade against McKay's neck to illustrate the point. McKay squeezed his eyes shut, but miraculously managed to bite back anything he was going to say.

"Ronon!" Sheppard said harshly, trying to snap him out of it. "You do _not_ want to do that." His voice was as sharp and commanding as he could make it. He wanted Ronon to focus on him and take his attention off of McKay. The fastest way he could think of was to make himself the bigger threat.

Ronon looked to him slowly. There was a coldness in his eyes that Sheppard wasn't used to. Well, he was used to it, just not directed at him. And, even though Ronon was staring right at him, there was no connection. He had no idea what he was doing. He was probably reacting entirely on impulse and that wasn't a comforting thought. Ronon and impulse didn't exactly go well together.

"Put the knife down," Sheppard ordered him. Ronon readjusted his grip on the scalpel with a hint of challenge in his eyes. Sheppard didn't like it.

"Put it down. _Now_," he repeated in no uncertain terms. "That is a direct order." He didn't know if it would have any effect, but he was willing to try anything to get through to him.

Surprisingly, Ronon lowered his arm slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but Sheppard saw it. Maybe it was the tone or maybe he finally recognized his voice, but whatever the reason, the hostility faded momentarily. It gave Sheppard hope that they might be able to work this out without someone getting horribly maimed.

"My God," Beckett breathed from somewhere behind him.

Sheppard didn't look back, he didn't want to risk taking his eyes off of Ronon for a second. He felt Teyla at his side as she put herself in front of Beckett, keeping him out of harm's way.

"John," she said apprehensively, expressing every concern and misgiving in that one word.

"I know," Sheppard said. He knew the situation was officially out of hand. They had to act quickly. If they tried to get close enough to disarm him, he'd probably kill McKay. If they did nothing, he'd probably kill McKay. It wasn't exactly the best of options. The seconds passed tensely as he tried to work out a possible solution to an impossible situation.

McKay wasn't inspired by the lack of action. "Would somebody _do_ something!" he blurted out.

"Let me talk to him," Beckett suggested, setting his medical bag on the floor.

"That's not going to work," Sheppard dismissed the idea outright.

"No, but it'll give you time to circle around to the other door." Beckett indicated the direction with a slight nod of his head and Sheppard followed his line of sight. Sure enough, there was another door connecting to the adjoining room. He'd been so focused on the scalpel at McKay's neck that he hadn't seen it.

"Right. _That_ other door," Sheppard said as he exchanged a look with Teyla. They'd have to circle around, but at least they'd have the element of surprise. That was pretty much the only advantage they had over Ronon at the moment.

"Quickly," Teyla said.

"Yes! Go, quickly! Quickly, quickly!" McKay agreed anxiously.

Sheppard hesitated, debating whether or not leaving Beckett there alone and unprotected was a good move. They didn't have much of a choice. "Stay where you are," he told him finally. "You do not move from this spot. Understand?"

"You'll get no heroics from me, I promise," Beckett said.

"Alright," Sheppard said, backing away from the door. "Let's go." Teyla gave Beckett a reassuring glance as she followed after Sheppard.

As soon as they were out of sight, Beckett realized he had no idea what to say. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. He cleared his throat nervously. Ronon shifted his attention to him. No, definitely not a good idea. But, it was too late to back out now.

"Ronon," Beckett started slowly, "you need to let him go. He's not a threat to you."

"Your powers of negotiation are astounding," McKay said with more sarcasm that Beckett thought humanly possible considering the circumstances.

"I'm doing the best I can, Rodney," Beckett said, trying to keep calm. He wasn't exactly trained for this sort of thing.

"Somehow, that's not incredibly reassuring."

Beckett was about to remind him that every time he talked he was that much closer to slicing his neck open on the scalpel Ronon was holding. But, he didn't get the chance, which was probably a good thing. McKay looked panicked enough as it was.

"Tell me where the Gate is," Ronon said.

"Yes, okay, alright," Beckett answered quickly, encouraged by the response. It was a start. He was talking, now he just had to keep him talking. "If that's what you want, just let McKay go-"

But Ronon wasn't interested in compromise. "Tell me where it is," he repeated evenly, "or I'll kill him."

TBC


	3. Awake

A breath caught in Beckett's throat and he fell silent. The Ronon he knew wasn't capable of it. But he didn't know this Ronon. One so consumed by desperation, so far within his own mind that he was threatening the life of a friend.

McKay inhaled sharply as the blade pressed against his neck again. Beckett tried to remain calm. McKay, however, was beyond any pretense of composure. Panicked was an understatement.

"Stun him!" McKay yelled frantically. "Stun him!"

"We're not going to shoot him —-No one's going to shoot you, son," Beckett said quickly to Ronon as he gave McKay a look. "Let's just all stay calm-"

McKay didn't take the hint. "That's easy for you to say!"

"You're not helping, you know that?"

"Well, excuse me for failing to see the hope in this situation. Maybe it's hiding behind the incredibly large, knife-wielding lunatic," McKay spout out before he caught himself. His eyes darted towards Ronon. "Ha, no offense. Little joke there. It wasn't even funny, way out of line. I don't know what I was thinking. Ha," he said quickly before dissolving into despair. "Oh god, I'm going to die!"

"Could you _not_ antagonize him?" Beckett said in exasperation.

Fortunately, Ronon didn't seem to care what McKay was saying. His eyes moved sluggishly between them, trying to follow what was being said. He couldn't, or so Beckett assumed, because he would have realized they weren't telling him what he wanted to know. And the moment he figured that out, Beckett could only imagine what would happen.

A flash of movement caught Beckett's eye. He glanced toward the far door long enough to see it was Sheppard and Teyla but not long enough to draw attention to their presence. Sheppard slipped into the room cautiously with Teyla a step behind.

There was an intense look of concentration on Sheppard's face, which either meant he had a plan or had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. He gestured for Beckett to keep talking and for McKay to quit looking at them, or at least to stop being so obvious about it. Ronon hadn't noticed them yet and it had to stay that way.

Beckett took a deep breath, keenly aware that any false move would have disastrous results. "Ronon," he said, trying to get his full attention. To his surprise, Ronon looked towards him. It wasn't much, but responding to his name was a step in the right direction.

"Where do you want to go? When you get to the Gate," Beckett said, watching Sheppard and Teyla from the corner of his eye.

With each second that passed, Ronon seemed to become more aware of his surroundings. Enough that he knew there were more than three people in the room, but not enough to readily identify the direction of the footsteps he heard. But he was also breathing more heavily and Beckett could see him trying to keep his hands from shaking.

"Son, look at me," Beckett said quickly, daring to take a step closer if it meant keeping Ronon's attention on him. "I will help you get wherever you need to go."

Ronon considered him briefly. There was a flash of something in his expression. The dark intensity lifted, if only for a moment. It could have been recognition, it could have been nothing.

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and drew in an unsteady breath.

The movement caused the scalpel to press closer to McKay's neck, causing him to stifle a pained gasp. Ronon looked at McKay before his eyes dropped to the blade, then his hand. He furrowed his brow as he looked back up at McKay.

"McKay?" he said slowly.

"Y-Yes! Yes, it's your close, personal friend, Rodney McKay, who you have absolutely no urge to kill," McKay said.

"You shouldn't be here," Ronon said, almost as if he was trying to convince himself what he was seeing wasn't real. "You shouldn't be here," he said again, this time more forcefully. He didn't know what was happening and his patience was fading.

Both Beckett and McKay looked to Sheppard in the same moment- Beckett subtly asking if he should do something, McKay not-so-subtly telling him to get a move on with whatever grand plan he had.

Sheppard would have, if he actually had a plan. So far, the idea had been to get as close as possible before Ronon noticed them. After that, he figured they'd wing it. Ronon wasn't predictable enough to anticipate.

He didn't know how they had gotten as close as they had and he didn't know what finally alerted Ronon to their presence. It could have been that McKay was widening his eyes increasingly in their direction or the fact Sheppard had caught his boot on the edge of a shelf but, whatever the cause, Sheppard had just enough time to brace himself.

Ronon whirled around, leveling the blade first at Teyla, then Sheppard.

It wasn't the best-case scenario, but he'd take it. If a knife had to be pointed at anyone, he'd rather it was him.

"McKay," he said, prompting him away with a quick nod.

"Are you insane?" McKay hissed, clearly not wanting to become a moving target with Ronon still within arm's reach. "Are you completely out of your mind?"

Sheppard spared him a sharp glare. McKay fell silent, clearly torn between staying put and making a break for it. Neither of the options was safe and Sheppard didn't fault him for the hesitation, but he didn't know how long they'd have.

"Move!" Sheppard ordered in a low whisper.

Finally, McKay took a tentative step sideways toward Beckett. When Ronon didn't stop him, he took another. The next step put him a safe distance away. Sheppard let out a small breath. So far, so good.

Ronon looked toward Sheppard, studying him with unfocused eyes. It took him longer to settle on a name. "Sheppard?" He was still uneasy.

"That's right," Sheppard said as he inched forward. He kept his eye on the blade as Ronon's arm fell to his side. His fist remained clenched around it, but at least he wasn't pointing it at anyone for the moment.

"Ronon," Sheppard said, holding his hand out to him slowly, "give it to me." It was a risk, but a carefully considered one. He didn't want to try and take it from him, that would have been akin to suicide.

Ronon tilted his head slightly at the request. He looked down at his hand and opened it enough to see what he was holding that Sheppard would want. He watched vaguely as the scalpel slipped from his palm and dropped to the ground.

Almost as quickly as it had fallen, Sheppard edged forward. With one quick movement, he kicked the blade away. It slid across the floor and clattered harmlessly against the opposite wall.

Sheppard cautiously held his ground, ready to back off at the first hint of hostility. "Easy there, big guy," he said, holding his hands up so Ronon could see they were empty. "Okay?" He took the fact he hadn't been punched in the face as a good sign. "Okay, good."

Sheppard faintly glanced toward Teyla and nodded. She moved around them slowly toward Beckett and McKay, careful to stay at a distance. Still, Ronon tried to back away from her. But what energy he had was utterly gone. Ronon staggered back only a step before his legs buckled. This time, when Sheppard reached out to grab hold of him, he let him.

Sheppard guided him to the ground as he sank to his knees. Crouching beside him, he put a cautious, steadying hand on his shoulder.

"You came back," Ronon said. The words weren't incredulous or grateful, they were a statement of fact.

"Yep, we did."

He could have sworn he heard Ronon laugh once under his breath. "That was stupid."

"You're welcome," Sheppard said, managing a bit of a smile.

With no warning, Ronon's face hardened. Any sign of familiarity drained away completely. He watched as Ronon looked up toward the ceiling, his eyes moving erratically. Sheppard felt him tense. He tightened his grip on Ronon, there was no way he was going to risk a repeat incident.

"No, don't," Sheppard told him. "Don't move, we're staying right here."

"Sheppard?" Ronon said in confusion, as if just seeing him for the first time. His expression was fading between recognition and realizing something was wrong. "We're in the open," he said. The undercurrent of fear was back in his voice.

"We're fine," Sheppard said quickly. "We're inside. Lots of cover. Nothing's going to see us." The way he was drifting in and out of reality couldn't have been good. But at least it was an improvement over being completely out of it.

"How we doing over there?" Sheppard asked in a not-so-subtle attempt to get Beckett to hurry up.

"Just a minute," Beckett said, going through his bag going as fast as he could. Teyla kept a hand on McKay's arm, reminding him to stay back, as she quietly relayed the situation on the radio.

"Run," Ronon mumbled. "Run. Get to the Gate."

Sheppard returned his attention back to Ronon, hoping Beckett's idea of a minute was considerably shorter than the standard definition. His eyes were closed, his head bowed. Sheppard had no idea if Ronon was talking to himself or them. Though, it became clearer when Ronon started to push him away. With effort, Ronon lifted his head to look Sheppard in the eye.

"Run," he told him. There was no mistaking his meaning this time. Whatever delusion was going on in his mind, he wanted them to live even if he didn't. His fingers dug into the material of Sheppard's jacket, not willing to let go even as he pushed him away.

"No," Sheppard said. "No one's going anywhere." Because they wouldn't leave, even if there were Wraith.

"They're coming," Ronon said, glancing up at the ceiling. His eyes moved in a quick line, tracking the flight of an imaginary dart above them. "Hold them off."

"I will," Sheppard said. "But you've got stay with me here, Ronon. Ronon?" He wasn't listening anymore, his eyes becoming distant as he watched the ceiling. Sheppard swore under his breath.

"Behind you," he heard Beckett say.

Sheppard shifted to the side as Beckett neared them. Not a moment too soon. The movement was enough to draw Ronon's attention. Beckett hesitated, not knowing if he would be seen as a friend or enemy. Sensing this, Sheppard strengthened his hold on Ronon, both as reassurance and to make sure he didn't attack Beckett in the process.

Beckett knelt beside them and set to work.

"Hide," Ronon said, attempting to push Beckett away to communicate the point. In that moment, it became clear. The fear in his eyes was not for himself, but for them. He was afraid for them, they didn't have the sense to leave.

"Go," Sheppard prompted him.

"I'll need his arm," Beckett directed as he uncapped the syringe.

"Hide," Ronon told him again.

"Aye, I've got an excellent spot picked out," Beckett promised him. "Don't you worry."

"Hurry," Sheppard said once he'd managed to twist one of Ronon's arms out toward Beckett, unsure of how long he'd be able to keep it that way.

Ronon realized what was happening a moment too late. He tensed against Sheppard's grip as the needle slid into his arm.

"It's alright, lad. It's alright," Beckett said quietly as he concentrated on keeping his hands steady as he worked. Even with Sheppard holding onto Ronon with all of his strength**, **it was a challenge. Still, Beckett had worked under more trying circumstances in the past. Routine wasn't exactly part of the job description.

"This is going to help you to sleep," Beckett started to explain.

Ronon inhaled sharply. "No," he said, trying to stand. He was too uncoordinated to get his feet underneath himself and Sheppard locked an arm around his shoulder to keep him from getting up.

"No, I can't," he said, struggling to speak between breaths. "Can't stop."

"Steady," Beckett said.

"I'm trying," Sheppard said through gritted teeth as he held Ronon's arm as still as he could. "This isn't exactly easy!"

"Can't stop," Ronon said again, trying to make them understand.

"Yes, you can," Beckett said, hoping it would give him a measure of reassurance. It didn't seem to. His expression didn't change. There was nothing but loss and defeat in his eyes. As if he knew he was going to die and they would die because of him.

Ronon was already starting to fight the effects of the sedative as Beckett withdrew the needle. Even though Ronon's hair was obscuring most of his face, Beckett could see him struggling to keep his eyes fully open. He was fighting to stay awake with the same determination he fought everything else.

Sheppard held onto him, speaking to him quietly, too quiet for Beckett to hear. His breathing gradually became calmer and less ragged. Despite his desperate attempt, he couldn't hold on any longer. All at once, the tension drained from him and his eyes closed. His head dipped down as he slumped against back Sheppard, unconscious.

Beckett put a hand to his neck, feeling for a pulse. It was still high. Sheppard shifted under the weight of holding Ronon up, but didn't let go of him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, glancing up at Sheppard.

Sheppard nodded, still faintly bewildered by what had happened.

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking," McKay put in, rubbing his neck absently where the blade had been. "What about him?" he added, nodding toward Ronon.

Beckett couldn't give him an answer.

* * *

The first thing he became aware of was the soft mechanical hum of the city. The sound was unobtrusive, slowly pulling him out of sleep. It was familiar and normal, so he didn't immediately realize anything was out of place.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to ignore the wave of nausea that hit him.

He heard voices, several disconnected conversations running together, both hushed and deafening. Voices that shouldn't have been there. Someone was in his quarters- uninvited. He reflexively moved to reach for the gun he kept near his bed, but didn't manage to lift his arm or even to open his eyes.

His body wasn't cooperating at the moment. Normally, that would have caused him concern, but he was having enough trouble getting his mind to cooperate. His thoughts were slurring together and he couldn't keep a clear train of thought. Drifting to the sounds around him, his attention faded in and out. The voices were overlapping and he couldn't understand a word. He soon gave up trying and instead concentrated on a slow, steady beeping sound that seemed to be in rhythm with his heartbeat. That was a strange coincidence.

He heard someone nearby. They were close enough that he could feel the air shifting as they moved by his side_. _He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was a pitifully indistinct groan.

There was more movement around him. The voices began to speak again, though everything had an oddly distant quality to it. Maybe he had fallen into a hole. That made sense. Dark, couldn't move, faraway voices. He knew he needed to call out again, they might not have heard him the first time.

Before he had the chance, he felt a hand rest lightly on his forehead. It was more than a little unexpected, considering he was stuck in a hole.

A moment later, one of his eyelids was opened. He heard a small click and a light suddenly flashed into his open eye. It was a rude awakening and one he wasn't prepared for. He squinted against the brightness.

"Look at me, son," he heard a voice say. "Open your eyes."

It sounded like Dr. Beckett, though why exactly Beckett wanted to blind him was beyond him at the moment. Probably had a reason. Ronon opened his eyes slightly and looked in the general direction of the voice.

"Good," Beckett said as the beam of light moved slowly from one eye to the other.

After what seemed like a painfully bright eternity, the light clicked off. Ronon blinked several times, trying to clear the spots from his vision. Gradually, he began to see that he was not in his quarters, but looking up at the ceiling of the infirmary.

That couldn't be. Yesterday, he was on Sateda.

He could still smell the stale emptiness of the buildings, the decay of the city hanging thick in the air. He could feel the dirt clinging to his hair, his face, his hands. His hands as he raked through the remains and rubble. His hands as he cut through the flesh of the Wraith. The dust cutting, stinging at his eyes.

"Try to stay awake, now."

Ronon cracked his eyes open again. He hadn't meant to close them.

His attention drifted slowly toward the doctor.

Beckett was watching him closely, taking in every move he made with a practiced eye. He didn't say anything immediately. Their eyes met and Beckett gave him a reassuring smile. It wasn't strained, so Ronon knew he wasn't critically injured, but there was some weight to it. He was concerned, that much was clear. Though, he'd told Ronon once that it was his job to be concerned.

"Can you tell me your name?" Beckett asked.

"What?" he mumbled. Why wouldn't Beckett know his name? Maybe he was in one of those 'alternate dimensions' McKay was always threatening to send him to.

Beckett didn't offer an explanation; in fact, he seemed to expect the confusion. "Take a moment, think about it."

"Ronon," he replied, if only to appease him. "Ronon Dex."

"Do you know where we are, Ronon?"

Maybe he was missing something. He glanced at the room again, just to make sure he wasn't so disoriented that he was imagining things. He wasn't. "Atlantis."

"Good," Beckett said. "And who am I?" He was speaking slowly, careful to say each word clearly as if he thought he might not be understood. It was a tone he usually reserved for children and people who didn't speak the common language. Ronon considered him for a moment, growing surer of the fact that either he was insane or Beckett was.

He finally settled on the only reason Beckett would be asking him questions he already knew the answers to. "I don't have a concussion."

"Actually, you do. But that wasn't the question." Beckett couldn't help but smile slightly. "Humor me."

"Dr. Beckett," Ronon answered wearily, hoping Beckett would go bother someone else. Even though he just woke up, he felt tired enough to sleep for a day. Maybe a week. A week would be good.

Beckett's smile widened as he looked down to make a note on the file he was holding. "Well, that's certainly an improvement, isn't it?"

Ronon didn't know what he meant. Didn't care to find out. He'd made it out alive, that was all that mattered.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie. Besides the pounding in his head, the nausea, and the fact every muscle that wasn't sore was stiff, he felt perfectly fine.

"Oh?" Beckett said, not quite believing it. Their definitions of 'fine' had always been vastly different.

Ronon began to sit up, or at least he attempted to. Beckett didn't stop him from trying, probably because he knew he wouldn't take his word if he told him not to. Ronon hadn't done much more than lift his shoulders from the bed when a searing pain ripped down his back. He grimaced and tried to keep going, but he couldn't pull himself up any farther. He had no choice but to lay back.

Maybe he wasn't fine. Not that he was about to admit it. Besides, he had more important concerns.

"Is it gone?" he asked.

He knew it had to be. They wouldn't have let him back in the city if the tracker was still in. But he wanted to hear it.

"Aye, it is," Beckett said, pleased enough for the both of them.

He felt a small sense of relief, but the heaviness that weighed on him didn't lift entirely. Of course, he'd never expected to get off of Sateda alive anyway. He should have been dead. Three times over, by his count. He could still feel the adrenaline inside him, but he had none of the alertness that usually came with it. He had the feeling he should be moving, but knew he didn't have to. Anxious, but too exhausted to do anything about it. Didn't want to. Just wanted to sleep.

"Ronon?"

He flinched as the room came into sudden focus again. For a split second, he had forgotten where he was.

"It's alright," Beckett reassured him, picking up on his disorientation. He said it easily and with confidence, so Ronon let himself believe it. "Did you hear what I told you a moment ago?" Beckett asked.

Ronon nodded. He lifted his hand to feel for himself that it was truly gone, but his arm wouldn't move. He couldn't remember breaking it, but maybe he did. He couldn't exactly remember a whole lot at the moment. Lifting his head, he glanced down at his arm, hoping it wasn't too bad.

It took a moment for his mind to register what his eyes saw. He twisted his arms against the restraints at his wrists, not believing they were actually there until he felt them. His heart began to beat faster as he realized he couldn't move his legs either. He tried to push past the tiredness and force himself into alertness.

He didn't escape one trap only to find himself in another.

He looked at Beckett with annoyance.

Before he could even ask the question, Beckett was answering it. "It's policy. Just until you're cleared."

"Cleared for what?" The words came out harshly, but Beckett wasn't affected by it. He paused a moment to decide how best to phrase what he wanted to say.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked carefully.

"The jumper. Escaping," Ronon said. He searched his memory as he spoke, but that was the last thing he could be sure of. The rest was a jumble. "Why?"

"That's fine for now," Beckett assured him. "We can talk about it once you've had a chance to rest." He didn't answer the question, evading it.

There was something he wasn't saying.

Ronon wasn't satisfied.

"Take them off," he demanded with one final wrenching pull that didn't accomplish anything except to remind him how sore he was.

"I can't do that just yet," Beckett said.

"Get Sheppard." He would understand.

"It's my decision, not his," Beckett countered.

"So change it."

"No."

Ronon set his jaw, deciding whether or not it would be worth it to argue the point. Beckett had that look on his face, the one that was infinitely patient only because he was so entirely convinced that he was right.

Beckett waited for him to respond, as if he knew the silence wasn't acceptance.

"You're serious?" Ronon said finally.

"Very."

Ronon didn't say anything else. He had the feeling Beckett wouldn't change his mind and didn't want to waste the effort.

Beckett started to explain the situation was only temporary when he stopped abruptly and put a hand to his ear. "Yes?"

"Just a moment," he excused himself, turning away as he continued the conversation. "This is Beckett. Go ahead."

Ronon exhaled in frustration and ignored the exchange that followed. It didn't concern him. Idly, he worked his wrist against the restraint. Everything had a weakness, he just needed to find it. It might be a matter of minutes or hours, but he would.

There was a pause in the conversation and Beckett glanced to him briefly. "Awake and alert," he said quietly. Another pause. "He should be fine."

Beckett said a few more words Ronon didn't hear before he turned back towards him.

"I've got to see to a bunch of overzealous botanists," he said with a faintly amused smile. "I'll be back, though. Rest."

"Doc-"

"Rest," he repeated. He looked briefly, but pointedly, to where Ronon was still turning his wrist under the restraint. "And don't even try. I mean that. You won't be doing yourself any favors. Understand?"

Ronon stopped, but turned his attention to the ceiling.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Beckett asked. Ronon still didn't give him an answer. He sighed as he put a hand on Ronon's shoulder. "Just rest. Please."

Rest.

Right.

Ronon waited just long enough for Beckett to leave the room before he started working at pulling his arm free.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So sorry about the delay, I intend to finish this story as soon as I can. There will be two more parts. All feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!


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